Payback
by Predec2
Summary: Sequel to Arms Wide Open. It's Justin's turn to play. Poor Brian.
1. Chapter 1: Let the Games Begin

It started Monday morning.

I had flown in on the red-eye from New York City earlier that morning after my weekend round of nonstop fucking at the Trump Hotel with Justin; I had even managed to catch a few hours of shut eye before arriving for my 9:30 meeting with Wade Dalton of Dalton's Water Sports. Dalton had been impressed (of course) with my sales pitch and had signed up on the spot for several print and television ads to be worked up by Kinnetik. I was feeling energized by my success and by a certain blond's attention over the weekend, _attention_ that had fucking worn me out. But it had been worth every second and every sore muscle in my body.

There was a temporary lull until my next appointment at 11:00, so I had decided it would be a good time to call Justin. The little fucker had been so tired when I had left – I probably had worn him out with all that pitching and catching over the weekend – that all I had received was a mumbled "love you" and a half-hearted kiss before I had to leave for my flight. I was a little disappointed not to get a more _spirited_ parting, but I knew we would be back together this coming weekend, since Justin had made plans to come home to Pittsburgh for a few days to be reunited with his mother, sister, and our friends. Maybe a little phone sex would help tide me over, though. I was glad that Justin had not been annoyed with the evil game of cat and mouse I had played with him for a couple of weeks until our eventual reunion this past Friday.

With my door shut, I had waited eagerly to hear my partner's voice as the phone started to ring. I was always amazed what just hearing his voice would do to me. I kept replaying his low, sexy voice calling my name in ecstasy over and over all weekend. Just the memory of the lust and wonder in his voice as we fucked bareback, especially the first time Friday night, made me hard and wanting. _Come on, Sunshine, answer the damn phone!_

I was not prepared for the voice that abruptly broke into my daydreaming; it was definitely NOT the voice I was hoping for. Instead of my lover's low, seductive voice greeting me, I was subjected instead to one of those monotonous, robot-like female voices advising me that "I'm sorry, this number has been blocked by the subscriber." _What the fuck?! This has to be a mistake!_

But I received the same "mistake" over and over again as I dialed the speed number two more times. My initial confusion was slowly changing into anger and resentment as I tried to figure out why in the hell Justin would have my number blocked. The taped voice hadn't said his number was out of service or being checked for trouble – it had fucking said my number had been BLOCKED. And, of course, I had no way to call the little twat to find out what he thought he was doing.

"What!" I yelled as just then I saw Cynthia poke her head in the door.

"Didn't you hear me knock?" she asked, "I knocked on your door three times," she explained, somewhat annoyed. I know sometimes I get almost into a trance when I'm concentrating on an account, but at least I normally hear my assistant when she's knocking on my door. But at that moment I was royally pissed at a certain blond brat.

"No, I DIDN'T hear you, obviously," I had answered, not bothering to keep the irritation out of my voice. I knew Cynthia hadn't done anything wrong, but right then I didn't care – I was fucking teed off.

Once I finally took the time to actually acknowledge her presence in the room, it was then that I noticed the fairly small-sized box she was holding in her hand. "This came for you a few minutes ago by courier," she advised, placing it down on my desk. "If we're lucky, it'll be rat poison, or at the very least some type of psychotropic, feel-good drug." Scowling, she left me alone as she turned and left the office, closing my door to leave me in my sudden, sullen funk.

Looking over at the nondescript package, at first glance I couldn't really tell too much about what it contained. The box was just plain, brown cardboard with no return address, only my name and Kinnetik's address written in handwriting that was somehow familiar. I had a sudden flash of epiphany as I realized it was _Justin's_ handwriting. _What the hell?_

Reaching into my desk drawer to find the scissors, I cut through the sealing tape surrounding the fairly lightweight box and curiously opened the lid. Pushing aside the strips of packing paper, I pulled out something that felt….fluffy. As most of the strips fell away from the object, I was able to study it more closely. It was a stuffed animal….a sheep? No, this animal had horns and was black. And not only that, it had a small chain around its neck with a metal dog-tag-like emblem that simply said "Brian" on it. I decided it was actually a ram – not only that, but a ram named Brian. _Shit_. But why this? And why from Justin? And why did the fucker _block my phone number?!_

I soon discovered the answer to all those questions when I looked again in the box and noticed a small envelope with a card inside. On the outside of the envelope, I recognized my name written in Justin's familiar, flowing handwriting. Feeling extremely curious now, along with feeling an inexplicable sense of impending dread, I opened up the card to read what it said. _Does Big Bad Horny Brian want to ram his bare cock up my tight little ass? Uh, uh, uh, Brian…..Not so fast. Paybacks are a Bitch. Later – J_

So much for hoping a non-stop, weekend marathon of bareback fucking and a marriage proposal would put me back into a certain blond's good graces. I was fucked – or rather, NOT fucked.

"Brian, your 11:00 app……" Once again, I had apparently managed to zone out Cynthia's knocking as she suddenly appeared in my office to announce my next appointment. Her voice, however, stopped in mid-sentence as she took in my namesake standing upright on all fours in the center of my desk.

I distinctly heard Cynthia trying unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh as she asked, "Who's your new friend? He's cute. Can I get an introduction?"

"Don't ask, Cynthia," was all I could manage. "Give me five minutes," I instructed her. "Just fucking go," I grunted. Thankfully, Cynthia knew me well enough NOT to push me for an explanation, and knew her job was on the line if she continued her current line of questioning, so she simply nodded, although still smiling, and closed the door, leaving me and "little Brian" alone. It was then that one thought kept repeating itself in my mind. _It was going to be a LONG week._


	2. Chapter 2: Sunshine Anyone?

I tried several more times during the day to reach Justin on his cell; each time the same damned "sender blocked" message mocked me. Sitting on my desk arrogantly, even _Little Brian_ seemed to be glaring at me, his two curved horns reminding me somehow of another set of two, softer curved mounds of flesh. Two luscious mounds that my hands (and cock) were apparently NOT going to be feeling until the end of the week. _Little fucker. I thought he was OVER that little game._

Well, I decided maybe HE didn't have much willpower, but I DID. I'll just show him. I didn't get to be Brian Kinney by being a pussy boy. Just because we've decided to be monogamous doesn't mean I'm going to fall to pieces when I can't get my hands or lips on a certain blond's ass, or soft, pouty, lips, or thick, full cock, or soft blond hair, or….well, you get the idea. I mean, it's just a week, right? How hard can it BE?

_Little Brian_ continued to taunt me somehow, his beady eyes staring at me unblinking. "Fuck off," I mumbled, as I swept him off my desk with one swipe of my arm. Seeing him lying on his side forlorn, however, I had second thoughts and picked him off the floor to place him back in his cardboard box. I decided he might enjoy making friends with Mr. Doodles and Mr. Canoodles, who presently occupied an honored spot on the vanity in the bathroom at home.

Tucking the box under my arm and trying to appear as carefree as possible, I picked up my briefcase and headed out the door. Bidding Cynthia a grunt goodbye, I drove _Little Brian_ back to the loft, his box lying carefully on the 'Vette's passenger seat.

I had still hoped that Justin might call or text me, but my phone was noticeably silent for the rest of the evening. Resigning myself to jacking off to some moron's lame sex-phone technique, I lay in bed until the scotch I consumed finally lulled me into a fitful sleep, thoughts of a certain blond uppermost in my mind.

* * *

As I woke up the next morning, I noticed _Little Brian_ had somehow toppled into bed with me. _I know, I know – I miss the little twat, too._ _Great – now I'm talking to fucking stuffed animals. _Smirking to myself, I placed my namesake on the nightstand next to me to stand as a sentinel over Justin's side of the bed until he returned later in the week.

Showering alone, I couldn't help missing the familiar soft, pale and slick skin that would normally be sliding under my probing hands at this moment. Skin that would ripple and tremble in delight to my touch. And the eyes – blue, sky frosted eyes that always look at me so tenderly and lovingly. And those plump, pink lips that are so talented……_fuck!_ _You are NOT going to break me, you little twat._ I just have to keep chanting, _it's just a week, it's just a week, it's just a week….._A LONG WEEK. Sighing, I reached for the towel as I stepped out of the shower, alone.

I grabbed a large mug of coffee as soon as I reached the office, reaching for a lifeline that would help to keep me awake after pretty much a useless, sleepless, and _unfulfilled_ night.

Thanks to a full schedule of meetings with clients and potential clients, I was thankfully busy until close to early afternoon. Nearing 1:00, I had just decided to contemplate what to send out for to eat when Cynthia walked into my office, carrying another package. _Uh, Oh._

"Brian? This just came for you by…."

"Special courier, yeah, I know," I answered, as Cynthia raised her eyebrows in a silent question. She couldn't help asking, though, a smile on her face, "You think it's a playmate for your little friend?"

"Not the kind of playmate my little friend _needs_," I muttered.

"What was that, Brian?" Cynthia asked innocently, even though with her eagle ears I'm sure she had to have heard me clearly enough. Cynthia had been my co-conspirator previously in my little game with Justin and his tourist treks around New York City; something told me Cynthia had an idea of exactly what was going on now.

As she handed me another cardboard box, no doubt noticing the familiar, distinctive handwriting of my mischievous partner, she seemed to be glued to her spot next to my desk. "Yes?" I asked somewhat snootily. "Was there something else, Cynthia?"

She smiled a little awkwardly then, as if she were caught sneaking cookies out of the cookie jar. "Uh, no, nothing else. What about you?"

Twisting my lips into a smirk, I told her, "I'm fine. If you will excuse me?" My assistant finally got the rather obvious hint as she nodded knowingly and, turning to go, shut the door and leaving me alone with my latest package.

I was about to carefully slit it open when my cell phone buzzed. Barely catching the scissors from falling to the floor, I placed them on my desk and flipped my phone open to read the text:

_Sleep well last night, Mr. Kinney? I did – I dreamed of your enormous cock ramming bareback into my tight little ass, nothing but hot, slick, sweaty skin against hot, slick, sweaty skin. Did you like your little namesake? I wanted him to remind you that I get all horny thinking of "ewe." Do you get horny thinking of me, Brian? Don't worry – I'm sending you a little reminder. Later – J_

_Oh, Boy. Horny as hell and no way to alleviate it, you mean. Damn twat. _With some trepidation, I resumed opening my latest package. The box was square in size, about 5 inches by 5 inches. I noticed that this box was somewhat heavier than yesterday's. After slitting the tape around the perimeter, I slowly opened the top flap.

At first I couldn't tell what was inside, because whatever it was, there was bubble wrap tightly encircling the object. I unwrapped several layers to find a glass jar similar to a pint-size jelly jar. It even had a dainty, lace covering on top of the lid. It could have been mistaken for some new brand of breakfast spread, except the front graphic on the side of the jar said in flowing script, "_Justin's Cream Sauce_." Turning it around, I read the back label that contained the motto, "_A Little Taste of Sunshine_." There was even a nice, cutesy sun face to accompany it. _Always the artiste, aren't you?_

Groaning at the thought of where that cream sauce must have come from, I felt myself immediately standing at attention. _Damn man. He KNOWS I can't resist his cream sauce. _For the first time, I was beginning to understand the particular type of delicious torment my partner must have undergone when I was the tormentor and he was the tormentee (if that was even a word – if it wasn't, it sure as hell was NOW).

Deciding maybe I might need a Sunshine nightcap later to lull me to sleep, I carefully placed the rare libation back into its bubble wrap cocoon and set it next to my briefcase. Acting just like a kid in a candy store, however, I couldn't help opening the lid after a few minutes to take a whiff. Imagine my disappointment when instead of finding the tantalizingly familiar sweet and salty smell of my partner, instead I found a small, collapsible drink box of Almond Silk Soy Milk tucked inside. _What the fuck?!_ Noticing a small slip of paper placed inside the jar, I pulled it out to read a message in my partner's familiar writing:

_Not so fast, Kinney. No cream sauce for you, Tiger. You'll have to wait until the weekend for the real thing. Drink the milk anyway – it's low carb and good for you. Gives you strong bones for those strenuous physical activities. Later – J_

Cursing loudly enough now to make even a drunken sailor blush, I picked up the smushy cardboard carton and threw it into the garbage, but keeping the glass pint jar. After all, one never knows when these types of containers will be useful later. Maybe I'll want to go home and can some pickles or something. Some large, firm pickles. Pickles that look a lot like….._No, Kinney, don't go there. Don't give a certain blond that satisfaction. I'll GIVE you some satisfaction – you just wait until I get my hands on you. ALL of you. _

Feeling my heart pounding in anticipation and my body going into overdrive at the unbidden image of my cock pounding mercilessly unsheathed into a certain someone's hot, tight, ass, I thought, _why do I feel like some fucking groom-to-be that's being told no sex until his wedding night? Oh, that's right – I proposed, didn't I? Well, if that little twat thinks I'm waiting until our wedding night for THAT, he's got another thing coming. And coming, and coming, and coming. AARGHH!!_

Holding my head in my hands in an unsuccessful attempt to keep certain kinds of lascivious thoughts out of my mind, I forced myself to return to my computer to continue working on the Dixie Cotton Children's Wear account. I figured if anything could keep my mind off a certain someone, surely THIS would. Now if I could only make bunny footsie pajamas exciting……..speaking of footsie……


	3. Chapter 3: Some Cheeky Humor

"You look like shit, Brian," Cynthia diplomatically commented to me as I arrived at Kinnetik 30 minutes later than usual.

"You always say the _sweetest_ things, Cynthia," I retorted. "Can I get some fucking coffee now?"

"Right away, Oh Tousled One," she responded sarcastically. "That's a new look on you," she observed, before turning to fetch my mug. I wasn't sure if she was referring to my messed up hair, my somewhat wrinkled Armani suit, or both. _YOU try tossing and turning all fucking night and see how well-groomed YOU look_, I thought, pinching my nose and sighing deeply.

I usually couldn't tell you shit about what my dreams were about or even if I DO dream, for that matter; normally, I can't remember anything about them. As soon as I woke up this morning from another round of restless, fitful sleep, however, I recalled every bit of my dream in vivid detail. I dreamed I was a sleek, black panther in a lush jungle somewhere, quietly stalking my prey – a pale, blond, and beautiful cheetah that kept swishing its tail seductively at me. Only the little shit kept eluding me. Each time I was about to pounce on him, he would jump unbelievably high up on a nearby ledge and glare down at me with those incredible blue eyes and long eyelashes, scowling at me. And even though his voice came out only in growls and purrs, I could somehow understand everything the little minx said to me. _None of my cream for you, you beast_, he kept saying, as he sat there licking his paws with that skillful, pink tongue, over and over and over again. _Little fucker._

Shaking my head to hopefully wipe out the memory that had tortured me all night, I looked up as Cynthia returned with my filled mug and a smirk on HER mug. As she placed my coffee in front of me, she said, "Might want to run a comb through that mop of hair. It's kind of sexy in a way, but I don't think the people from the Saturn Style Salon will find it terribly endearing."

"Fuck! What TIME is it?" Alarmed, I looked over at the small clock/picture frame perched on the corner of my desk. The picture of a certain blonde I kept there seemed to be mocking me with his radiant smile. _It's all your damn fault I'm off my game, you little twat._ Cynthia raised her eyebrows as I abruptly placed his picture face down. "They're supposed to be here in 15 minutes! Why didn't you tell me?" I demanded, as I jumped up to scurry over toward my closet to find another suit jacket to put on.

"What do you think I was _trying_ to do?" my assistant asked, exasperated, as she handed me a comb she had dug out of her purse. Shaking her head, she walked out of my office as I tried to turn myself back into the confident, stylish ad exec I normally was before my clients arrived.

* * *

Somehow I managed to fool the Saturn Style Salon people into thinking I was my typical calm, cool and composed self until our meeting was over. Inside, however, I was in turmoil; it seemed all I could think about was my partner, my _fiancé_. (I was still trying to get used to _that_ title). But no matter WHAT I called Justin, I couldn't stop thinking about him. The way he smelled, the way he felt, the way he breathed, the way he laughed, the way he smiled. _Hell, I was sounding like some sentimental fag now!_ I realized I was just fooling myself if I thought I could ignore what he was trying to do to me. Truth be told, he didn't even have to really try to get me horny, because all I had to do was _think_ about him and my body responded. _How does he DO this to me? __Well, Kinney, it's time to grow some balls. It's just for a few more days. How HARD can it be? Oops - wrong word. _Dragging my hands over my face, I sighed in frustration.

I had just risen from my seat in search of yet another coffee refill when I almost bumped into Cynthia coming into my office. She had a look of – what would I call it? Amusement? Mirth? Smugness? Probably all of the above, I decided. Not even trying to conceal her smile this time, she downright beamed at me as she announced in a sort of sing-song voice, "Guess who got another package?"

I didn't even attempt to hide my groan as she placed my latest gift from Hell in front of me; in fact, she seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in seeing my reaction. If I didn't know better, I would think she somehow knew what was going on. I silently reminded myself to check into that later – AFTER I had returned a little of the torture I was currently getting back toward the little blond twat that was no doubt enjoying his game tremendously.

Cynthia winked at me as she turned and left my office; she knew by now that I was NOT going to humor her by opening this latest package in front of her. I was NOT going to give her that satisfaction.

I once again recognized my partner's distinctive handwriting on the outside. This time, the package was wrapped in a rigid, flat cardboard envelope. Curious, I figured, _how bad could this BE?_ _Maybe he's just trying out his letter-writing skills_. _Yeah, right._

Pulling the strip to open the envelope, I slid the contents out. There was a thin sheet of some type of packing material wrapped around whatever it was. As I separated the wrapping from the actual contents, I noticed what appeared to be a cardboard matte, lying face down. With a certain amount of both anticipation and dread, I slowly turned the matte right side up. At the first glance of what my latest package contained, my entire body instantly went into overdrive, and my cock became harder than a Mensa intelligence test.

The package contained two photos of Justin. One frontal-view photo showed Justin wearing nothing but a radiant smile and a short-short, white mini apron with big, red letters that said _Kiss the Cock, _right where I WOULD be kissing it, if I had my way_._ One of his slender, pale hands was wrapped around a large white mixing bowl with a wooden spatula sticking out of it. The other hand, though, was what immediately got my attention (that is, AFTER I stopped ogling the entire body). The slender index finger of his right hand was stuck in his mouth, where he was sucking on it with those perfect, plump, wet-looking lips. There was a caption written underneath the photo in my partner's elegant, flowing handwriting:

_Care to lick the spoon? Being apart really sucks, doesn't it? _

_How poetic, Sunshine_, I snarled_._

The other photo was another shot of Justin wearing the same apron. Only it was a rear shot – with emphasis on the word _REAR_. His perfectly shaped, rounded, tight bubble ass was bare for all the world to see (that is, if the world was lucky enough to see it, which they fucking weren't ever GOING to be), and his upper body was twisted around toward the camera with a definite "come hither" look on his face. The only part of the apron you could really see in the second photo was the tie strap around his slender neck, just peaking out of the long, soft, blond hair. Hair that I always took great pleasure in playing with, while I was ramming my swollen cock into those two wonderfully-shaped cheeks that were presently staring at my so perkily……My partner had considerately written a caption under this photo as well:

_Hot crossed buns, anyone?_

_DAMN that fucker! _If someone had ripped my fingernails out at that moment, I wouldn't have felt any more pain that I did already, because this was an exquisite form of the _worst_ type of torture. It was like receiving an invitation to visit heaven, but not being able to go there. I mentally ticked off my work schedule for the rest of the week; if I hadn't had such critically-important clients coming into Kinnetik the next few days, I would have been on the first fucking jet out of Pittsburgh back to New York to alleviate the extreme sexual frustration I was currently feeling. I decided in a way it was a good thing that Justin had blocked my calls during this cat and mouse game; if I spoke to him right now, it would be obvious how wildly successful his little scheme had been so far at making me horny as fucking hell. And I did NOT want him to hear him gloating at me.

I was just about to get up from my chair to take a much-needed break when my phone unexpectedly buzzed in my pocket (although by now, who was I kidding? How unexpected was it REALLY?). Flipping it open, I knew who the sender would be: Justin, aka the _Tormenting Twink_.

_Temperature rising yet, Brian? Don't worry – when I see you, I'll share my secret recipe of sweet and salty herbs and spices just with you. And it will definitely call for a lot of cream – lots and lots of cream. This dish will take ALL weekend long to make – usually it simmers first, but not this time - it will go right to a hot BOIL. Later - J_

Not being able to stand it anymore, I reached for the intercom and barked into it. "Cynthia! I'm going OUT. No, I DON'T fucking know when I'll be back. That's what Theodore is for!" Flipping the button off, I rose from my seat, determined to somehow find an outlet for relief. I tried to think of what any self-respecting, _monogamous _(shit – I was beginning to HATE that fucking word), red-blooded, American gay male would do in my situation. Maybe hang himself? No, been there, done that, and it wasn't pretty. Eat some high-carb, fattening food? Are you kidding? I was going to have to keep my energy up while I fucked the twat senseless this weekend – ALL weekend.

Sighing, I finally pulled my Gucci bag out of the closet to head toward the gym. I decided if I couldn't drag some trick into a backroom somewhere, hopefully I could WORK out my frustration. But something told me it was going to be another LONG, hard night, and not in a GOOD way. Now where did Justin hide the rest of that Sominex?


	4. Chapter 4: Cut It Out!

Thursday Morning – Otherwise known as Day 4 of the _Week That I Would Like to Forget_. Only a certain someone was taking inordinate pleasure in making sure I did NOT forget. By now I realized the hell I must have put Justin through last week, because he was returning it to me in spades. The man had a longer memory than a fucking elephant (how does anyone know about elephants and their memory, anyway?).

When I came home from work I made sure I found an honored spot for Justin's photos; since they were cooking themed, I decided it was only fair that my "personal chef" stand attention over my kitchen so I placed them on the counter where I could see him as soon as I made my morning coffee. _Perky ass, perking coffee – the ideal breakfast combination_. Now if I only had some special _cream_ to go with it…..

Later, I finally found the Sominex that Justin had placed in the medicine cabinet; it helped put me to sleep, all right, because it also served to provide me with the most vivid dreams about him. I dreamed he was wearing his mini _Kiss the Cock _apron, and I was doing just that with him on the kitchen counter, just before I duplicated his rear photo by turning him over and ramming my cock into him like a meat tenderizer does to sirloin. I even gave him a good spanking with my wooden spatula for good measure. Regretfully, I woke up this morning just before I was getting ready to lick his spoon, and his nipples, and his neck, and his full, pouty, lips, and the really delightfully sensitive area between his thighs and his cock, and every other inch of his luscious body, for that matter. _Damn._

As I slowly pulled myself out of bed and into the shower for a totally unsatisfying jerk off, I estimated in my mind the time remaining before my little blond torturer would be back in my arms….something like 22 hours, 57 minutes, and 3 seconds (but who's counting, right?). Close enough. But definitely NOT soon enough for me. _Little fucker._

I actually managed to arrive at work just before Cynthia for a change; at least that allowed me to enter my office without seeing her flashing that knowing, condescending smirk again. I continued to have the distinct impression that my assistant was privy to more information than I was aware of; I resolved to inflict whatever it took on my partner – tickling, torture, extreme fucking – all of the above –to find out exactly was part my assistant was playing in this wicked game of his. AFTER I thoroughly enjoyed myself, of course, and managed to get the little shit to promise NEVER to do something like this to me ever again. (It was totally inconsequential that I had started it, of course.)

It was actually somewhat quiet at the office this morning for a change – I didn't have a meeting with any important clients until later this afternoon. That allowed me some time to catch up on more mundane tasks, such as the shitload of paperwork that always seems to accompany new accounts. In fact, once 11:00 had come and gone, I was beginning to hope that my partner's sadistic game with me had finally come to a close and he had come to his senses. Not the way I wanted him to _come_, but I was at least beginning to sigh in relief that I would be spared from any further pranks until he returned home tomorrow evening and I could SHOW him how much I did NOT enjoy his peculiar sense of humor. Like you said, Mr. Taylor, _paybacks are a bitch._

Unfortunately, my hope proved to be short-lived, because no sooner did I invite that thought into my head than I heard a quick succession of knocks, followed by my self-satisfied, grinning assistant opening the door and walking in. Walking in with yet another package of torment.

"Don't even say it," I immediate warned her, as she started to open her mouth. "And don't think you can pull one over on me. I know you're involved with this somehow, Cynthia."

"Why, Brian, I don't have any idea what you're referring to," she replied innocently, handing me a fat, brown envelope with a wink and a smile. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do….."

Snorting as she walked out and shut the door, I wondered just what type of work she was referring to. Probably more _dirty work_, I decided, with emphasis on the word _dirty_. Normally I liked dirty, especially when it came to Justin, but NOT when I couldn't do anything about it. I've always been a tactile, visual person; not being able to touch or see a particular blonde right now was driving me insane. _WHY _did I pick this particular time to commit to that little twat? And bareback no less. I should never have allowed that to happen, because now I knew what I was missing. Shit! _This was NOT playing fair, Mr. Taylor_.

Rolling my eyes and sighing in resignation, I picked up the letter opener and, after fleetingly toying with the idea of using it to slit my throat instead, I cut open the flap of the brown, 9" x 12" envelope and slid out the contents that were wrapped in thick tissue paper. It was some type of bound booklet; turning it over to see the front, I inwardly cringed. This was NOT going to be pretty, at least not in a fulfilling, satisfying way. The illustration and writing on the front of the book was obviously written and drawn by my little tormenter. The title of the book, _Justin's Playtime Activities,_ was written in large, flowing gold letters at the top. The little Picasso had even drawn a full-length self-portrait of himself below the title, dressed in his typical stylish clothing of baggy chinos and a long-sleeve tee shirt. _Well, at least he didn't embellish THAT,_ I smirked. At the very bottom in small letters were the words: _Paper dolls and accessories for rainy day fun._ _Oh, boy – I don't like the sound of this one bit_.

Sparing a quick glance up to make sure no one had walked into my office unannounced, I steeled myself before opening the next page. _How cute. The little twat had even written a table of contents. _There were ten chapters:

_At the Baths with Mr. Doodles and Mr. Canoodles_

_Fun At Woody's, or The Proper Use of Your Cue Stick_

_COPulating_

_Ride 'Em Cowboy!_

_Going Up?_

_Dancing Queen_

_Play Ball!_

_Hit the Road, Jack_

_You Scream, I Scream, We all Scream for Ice Cream_

_Bedtime Stories_

_Aren't you just a creative little fucker? _ A certain part of my anatomy was starting to stand at attention before I even turned to the next page. With trepidation, then, I slowly flipped to Page 2 – Chapter 1, aka _At the Baths with Mr. Doodles and Mr. Canoodles. _The page contained two Justin paper dolls, both drawn in a sitting position. The first one was drawn as if he were sitting with his legs stretched out in a bath tub; the other one showed him with his legs bent as if he were sitting on a ledge in a steam room. Both of them were also totally nude. I'm sure that was so I could dress my little Justin however I liked, or perhaps NOT dress him at all (that was my number one choice). My little artiste, however, had accommodatingly supplied me with a paper cutout of a claw foot bathtub, a ledge, a white fluffy towel, and little rubber ducky lookalikes of Mr. Canoodles and Mr. Doodles. There was also a blank felt page, no doubt for arranging my little artiste and his accessories in the desired fashion.

Although at that moment I entertained thoughts of punching out the _real_ Justin for putting me through this delicious torture, I chose instead to punch out the little Justin cutout showing him with his legs fully reclined and the bathtub. Placing them on the piece of felt, I took Mr. Canoodles and Mr. Doodles and dutifully put them in the bathtub with him. _No towel for you, though, Sunshine. You'll just have to air dry yourself off,_ I thought with satisfaction. _So there._

Curious now, I turned to the next chapter – _Fun at Woody's, or the Proper Use of Your Cue Stick. _Now this was more my style. Justin had drawn himself with a rear shot – emphasis on the word _rear, _along with a pool table, cue sticks, and balls. _Not the kind of balls I would like to play with right now, Sunshine, but they'll have to do. _Chuckling a little, I took my little Justin and placed him obediently at the corner of the pool table, so my cue stick would be aimed right at the corner cheek "pocket." Excellent aim as always.

Surprisingly, not only had he drawn another little Justin, but a Brian as well. _I knew you were a smart man, Sunshine. _The other Justin paper doll was drawn on his knees, with his mouth open and plump lips rounded. The little Brian he had drawn (thank goodness this one wasn't a fucking ram this time) had a cue stick in his hand, wearing a black beater shirt and pants pooled down around his feet, no doubt helping with the demonstration of the proper use of HIS _cue stick_. Taking my "cue" from Justin's cutouts, I accommodatingly placed little Brian in the proper stance to sink Justin's balls. I had never played with paper dolls when I was growing up – I wasn't any fucking sissy – but as an adult I decided I was starting to _like_ this childhood tradition.

Now actually looking forward eagerly to the next chapter – _Copulating – _I turned to the next page. Little Justin was drawn lying down, face up, legs spread eagled apart and cock standing at attention. There were little cutout accessories of a policeman's hat, baton, sunglasses, handcuffs, and a bed that looked very familiar. I noticed there were no clothes to put on him. _He knew that would be a waste of time; no way was I putting any clothes on THAT body_. Punching out the bed and little Justin cutout, I placed him in the center and promptly put his handcuffs on. No other accessory was needed for THIS picture. Perfect, I decided.

Moving on to the next chapter, I was interested to see _Ride 'Em Cowboy. _This page had a cutout of Justin and me, too. I was drawn face up and lying down with my legs slightly bent at the knees, nude (of course). Justin was drawn from the back sitting up, tight little rounded ass glowing, just perfect for riding my also perfect cock. He had supplied me with a cowboy hat for himself that looked suspiciously like his King of Babylon dancing hat, and a pair of leather cowboy boots, apparently for me. Placing the hat on his blond head and the boots on me, I envisioned what the real thing would feel like - hot, wet, sticky skin against hot, wet, sticky skin. Groaning, I unconsciously rubbed my cock, trying to relieve the sudden tension that _sprung_ up there. _This certainly wasn't your grandmother's paper dolls, Sunshine._

_Going Up?_ was actually drawn in a likeness of the loft's elevator. It showed little Justin standing as if flattened against the back of the elevator, lips parted, head slanted exposing his creamy neck, and eyes closed in apparent ecstasy. He also had drawn a little Brian from the rear, arms open and curved as if just waiting to push himself up against the blond in a frantic attack on every inch of the slender body. I was only too willing to complete the picture and shove the two together, thinking ruefully,_ you're getting more action that I am right now, LIttle Brian._

The next chapter entitled _Dancing Queen_ took place at Babylon. There were accessories of disco balls, a catwalk, a bar, patrons, and more importantly, Justin drawn in a dancing pose, just waiting for me to wrap my arms around him from behind. He had supplied clothes with this page, including a slinky, iridescent silver sleeveless shirt that I knew would make his eyes absolutely shine and a tight pair of black leather pants that I was sure would show off his bountiful cock and round ass cheeks to perfection. Just the thought of him wearing that outfit made me even harder – _damn that man._

I knew it was not a good idea to continue on to Chapter 7 – _Play Ball_ – because I had already experienced _running the bases_ with my favorite pitcher and I was getting way too aroused just thinking about that night – the first night we had done it bareback, the first night we had been reunited. What a night it had been – unbelievable, incredible, and fucking indescribable. But when it came to a certain blond, I didn't always have good judgment. Like a robot unable to not obey his master's commands, I turned the page to see what my little artiste had drawn for this chapter.

I wasn't disappointed. He had drawn cutouts of both him and me (of course), and both nude (of course). He had obligingly included a Pirates baseball cap for me to wear. Period. Justin had drawn himself as if he were lying face down on our bed, his delicious, rounded bubble butt sticking up like two luscious ripe melons ready to be eaten. He had drawn my likeness in a similar fashion, but by the position of my arms it was obvious I was just about to have my "meal." Taking the loft bed cutoff, I dutifully placed it on the felt page and arranged Justin and me so we were ready to get down to action. If only the REAL Justin was here with me right now; I would be taking advantage of my melon baller to eat that luscious fruit right now.

Sighing a little now in frustration, I hesitantly moved on to the next chapter: _Hit the Road, Jack._ Justin had drawn the 'Vette, but it was transparent, instead. That was no doubt so you could readily see what the cutouts of Justin and I were doing _INSIDE_ the car. I was drawn in a sitting position, my suit pants open at the crotch, and Justin was positioned in such a way that he was leaning over to give me one of his famous blowjobs. Blowjobs that only my consummate professional expert could provide. What those talented lips could do to me, and the fucking sounds he could make me emit. I was normally not very vocal when it came to sex with anyone except Justin. There was just something about his _talents_ that took sex to a whole different level. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to imagine myself sitting behind the wheel of my sports car while my little blond passenger expertly went to work. _Damn._

At once glad and yet disappointed that I only had two more chapters to go, I turned to the ninth one. As I suspected, my little artiste had drawn dolls of both of us in opposite sitting positions and a copy of my chaise lounge chair – the one he and I had occupied so many times before when he had fed me ice cream kisses. Those times were the only ones where I actually allowed myself to eat that obscenely high-carb nonsense. Somehow it wasn't so important when I was getting wet, tongue-drenched kisses and licks from my blond partner in return as he _accidently_ dropped vanilla ice cream on my chest and my cock. _Shit – what a talented tongue it is, too. You're KILLING me here, Sunshine,_ I lamented.

Finally, I turned to the last chapter: _Bedtime Stories._ There was my familiar, king-sized bed at the loft, pillows, the duvet, and dolls of me and Justin. This time, though, they were still nude, but they were drawn as if spooned together, my back to his with my arm stretched out as if ready to embrace his chest. He also included a cutout of a book that had the appearance of being one of those fairytale-like books, gilded in gold around the edges and a photo of a prince dressed in a mink-lined cape and crown. The title of the book, however, was what caught my attention. In small letters, my fiancé had meticulously written in his familiar scrawl, _And the Prince Lived Happily Ever After. The End. _

Closing the book slowly as tears unexpectedly rose in my eyes, I blinked to try and ward them away as I felt a lump in my throat. _I MISS you, you damn twat. _17 hours, 52 minutes, 12 seconds. Not NEARLY soon enough.


	5. Chapter 5: He's Done Playing Isn't He?

_Friday Morning_

I didn't even know the man was in my office until I saw a coffee cup being placed on my desk. Nodding an acknowledgment, the man said, "Brian. This is a new look for you. What do you call it? The bed head exec look or maybe the _I can't sleep while Justin's away_ look?"

Now glaring at my employee, I replied, "That sneer is not very becoming on you, Theodore. I'm doing just fabulous, thank you very much. Did you want something, other than critiquing my fashion sense?" Never mind the fact that he had hit the nail on the fucking head. Between missing waking up with my partner in my arms each morning, and the vivid dreams that had been occurring during his absence, I was mainly working strictly on adrenaline by now. Those fucking _adult paper dolls _from yesterday hadn't helped, either. Thanks to my little artiste's creative endeavor, I had spent the entire night on an around-the-world tour, dreaming of all the scenarios he had so meticulously drawn; but with my vivid imagination I had placed the _real, live_ Justin and Brian in each one instead. We started out in an enormous, claw foot bath tub with our rubber duckies and proceeded to CLAW each other in it (what else would you do in a claw-foot tub – _bathe_?), then we moved on to Woody's, where we made productive use of the pool table; no chalk needed for THOSE cue sticks. That was just in the first hour of my dream. Then we dutifully moved on to our bed at the loft, where we played cops and robbers with his handcuffs. Just to make sure he knew who was in authority, I wore the police cap and HE wore the leather handcuffs (I made a little allowance for him – after all, metal can be so COLD). Besides, in my dream, Justin looked fucking hot in those black leather handcuffs, especially contrasted against his pale skin.

Then, naturally all that leather inspired us to move on to the Wild, Wild West. In my dream we were still in my king-side bed and I was bucking like a veritable horny bronco as an insatiable blond clad only in a cowboy hat rode me hard and deep, my calf-skin booted feet sliding up and down in rhythm as my legs rose and fell in time with his movements. Gave a whole new meaning to our riding bareback – _yee haw_!

Then on the way to Babylon, we were _elevated_ to new heights while riding down to the lobby as we did a little _lifting_ in the _lift._ I discovered a new mathematical equation on the way down – one ride down equals one mind-blowing fuck.

At Babylon, we found ourselves there completely alone – which was perfect, because somehow we had both forgotten to take any clothes with us, even Justin's new tight black pants and silvery shirt. I actually thought it was very efficient – no point in wasting time removing our clothes before we got to more important matters. In my dream, we found a whole new use for the long bar at Babylon. It was perfect for ramming and fucking a blond totally senseless – no glasses or Jim Beam bottles to get in the way. And the overhead lights cast a delightful glow on my partner's light skin and golden hair. Even his _disco balls_ looked more enchanting than ever, with all that glitter and confetti stuck to his sweaty, sticky skin as he eagerly devoured a high-protein shake that I had made especially for him.

Then our tour moved on to the baseball stadium for a little athletic activity. I remember how hysterical I had found it last week when Justin had confided in me about a dream he had had where he and I were running the bases around the baseball diamond. I was chasing Justin, who inexplicably had decided to run away from me (damn tease). I was closely following him as his delicious bubble butt jiggled with each evading step. At the time he had told me, I had taken particular delight in ridiculing his dream. Now, I couldn't help thinking HE was the one having the last laugh. At least when he had dreamed his dream, we had not done it bareback. Now that I had experienced that indescribable event, the dream of tagging my little pitcher out at home and shagging some of his balls had tormented me all….........night….....…long.

Even now, my body was instantly in horny overdrive at the thought of our hot, naked, flushed bodies joined together with _nothing_ else between us. God, it had been _incredible._ So tight…..so warm…..every inch of his slender body reaching up to welcome my uninhibited, unobstructed thrusts.

Mentally shaking myself to try and come out of revisiting that unbelievably real-seeming vision, I moved on to our trip home from the baseball stadium. At every red light, which my 'Vette just happened to hit at each intersection, I found my stamina challenged as Justin gave me one incredible blow job after another…..and another……and another. No doubt Justin had to be very adept at bobbing for apples as a child, because those plump but soft lips he had were being used to perfection now.

In my dream, we finished our around-the-world tour with a little international flair back at the loft, as Justin fed me some spumoni ice cream. I had never had this flavor before, but somehow this Italian frozen dessert seemed the ideal delicacy for use in my Italian leather chaise lounge. As my blond partner straddled me to feed me the ice cream with nuts, he licked the _totally_ accidentally-dripping ice cream off MY nuts, his talented, wet tongue swiping my balls and cock in long, languorous strokes. Over and over, up the underside and then over the top, just like a little fucking hot and moist steamroller. My body shuddered in desire as I imagined what that talented little tongue could be doing to me right now. IF a particular blond would quit torturing me and get his tight little ass back home where it belonged, I growled to myself.

Our imaginary journey ended last night as most of our nights did, back in our bed at the loft. I was finally lying on my side after yet another marathon round of fucking – no, make that _love-making_ this time – with Justin spooned up against my chest, just like with our paper doll versions. His royal fairytale book was lying next to him, the last page open where it showed that the prince and his lover had lived happily ever after. Sitting at my desk, I swore that I could still actually feel his lithe, slender body snuggled up next to mine as my head rested on top of his soft, blond hair; I could hear the light, rhythmic breathing of his chest as my arm cradled his warm body to mine. I took a deep breath, longing to smell the unique scent that only belonged to the man that had managed somehow to capture my heart.

As I sighed, I slowly became aware that Ted was addressing me. When had he come back into my office?

"Brian?" he asked. "Did you hear me?" As I slowly came out of my fogged, horny state, I noticed the other man looking at me with a puzzled, if not concerned stare. "Are you all right?" he asked with what I would have sworn was a knowing smirk.

Feeling a little sheepish that I had almost been caught _literally_ with my pants down, I straightened up in my chair and squared my shoulders before answering, maybe just a little too sharply. "I already told you I was fine, Theodore. What now?" I demanded.

"I was just saying that Cynthia handed me your schedule for the day. She wanted to make sure you knew about a potential new client that she just added for an off-site meeting later this afternoon," he advised me, handing me a printout.

It wasn't uncommon in advertising to meet current clients, or potential new ones, at some place other than Kinnetik. After all, many a new deal had been initially consummated over a couple of Jim Beams and a handshake. As I glanced at the printout, however, I couldn't help the snort that came out of my mouth at the name of the potential new account. "_Grant Hardwoods_? Are you shitting me, Theodore?"

I noticed Ted couldn't help smiling a little at the name as well. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he admitted. "But it's legit. Cynthia did some background market research on the company. She's attached it to your schedule," he pointed out. "Seems this company is really big out in the northwest US, especially around Seattle, where the _best_ hardwoods grow," he noted, as I smirked. "The name of the company comes from the owner's last name – _Grant_. The company manufactures up-scale furniture for the upper-class market, and is interested in expanding their territory on the east coast. I looked over their numbers – it could be a pretty lucrative account for you."

"Brian Kinney and hardwoods – sounds like a match made in heaven," I responded. Looking down at the schedule, I grimaced as I noticed I was supposed to meet the owner at the downtown Marriott at 4:00 p.m. Fuck. Justin was due in tonight at 6:00 – with Friday evening rush-hour traffic factored in, that was going to be cutting it awfully close if I wanted to get to the airport in time to meet his flight. But no way was I going to miss being there when he came in; I wasn't letting that man out of my sight once he got back here – _evil little fucker._ He's been having his fun all week at my expense – this weekend was going to be MY turn. But I was thankful that at least he'd finally stopped tormenting me, now that he's been busy getting ready to come home.

_Down, Boy_, I warned a certain part of my anatomy, which, as usual, was getting quite excited at the prospect of soon seeing its not-so-little _mate_. Calming my breath down and trying to will myself to think about _anything_ other than a certain blond, I noted with consternation that Ted was still peering at me for a response. "Was there something else, Theodore?" I asked, eyebrows rising.

"Uh, no, Bri," he answered. "I'll let Cynthia know you'll be needing a car for your meeting this afternoon."

Before he started to leave, however, I called out to him. "No, I'll take the 'Vette," I decided firmly. "I'll be leaving directly after my meeting at 4:00 for the airport."

"Ah," Ted answered knowingly. "Of course. You wouldn't be meeting a certain someone who's flying in from New York tonight?" At my look of _don't ask, don't tell, _he added, "Never mind. I just got my answer. I know nothing."

"Good man. Now let me get back to work, Theodore," I instructed, as I waved my hand in dismissal. The quicker I got done with my meetings today, the quicker I could get on with much more _satisfying, pleasurable_ endeavors. I glanced over at my combination clock/photo frame on the corner of my desk. I couldn't help staring at Justin's picture as I noted I had nine more, _long_ hours to go until the two of us were reunited. _When that happens, Sunshine, I'm never letting you go._ Dragging my hand through my hair and sighing, I forced myself to turn back to my laptop and concentrate for the time being on more immediate business matters.

* * *

Cynthia looked up from her computer as Ted walked up. "How did it go?" she asked curiously.

Smiling conspiratorially, he winked at her as he confirmed, "Just fine. Who would have thought that such a shrewd businessman as the great Brian Kinney could be snookered so easily?"

Cynthia grinned. "Yeah, it IS kind of a shock. But just keep remembering – a sated, well-fucked Brian Kinney is a _happy_ Brian Kinney. And a happy Brian Kinney is a happy _boss_."

"Which is a good thing for all of us," Ted answered, chuckling, as he walked back toward his office, thinking, _SOMEONE was going to have a good weekend._


	6. Chapter 6:Bigger They R Harder They Fall

Why is it a rule of human nature that when you're anxious for time to pass by quickly it seems to take at least twice as long for it to go by? I found myself asking that question in my head over and over again as I listened to my clients' monotonous drone about their latest product and what their ideas were for advertising it. Of course, typically their own ideas were for shit; that's what _Kinnetik_ was for. For me, 6:00 couldn't get here fucking fast enough. I had some serious reuniting to do with a certain blond, rebellious tease.

At last my final appointment of the day was approaching – Grant Hardwoods. If anyone was suited for this client, it was me, I thought, smirking. But this Grant guy sounded like a total dork; I mean, who would name their furniture company that? If _that_ was MY last name, I would have fucking changed it a _long_ time ago.

Nonetheless, both Ted and Cynthia had assured me this was a large and prestigious firm out of the Seattle area, and it would be a definite coup for Kinnetik if we were to successfully land the account, so with my neatly pressed Prada suit (thank God for backup clothes in my office closet) and polished Gucci shoes, I arrived at the downtown Marriott at precisely 3:50 p.m., not too early to appear overeager but just early enough to be professional. Besides, I was hoping I'd be in and out of there quickly so I could still get to the airport in time to meet Justin, aka the Tormenting Twat.

I approached the front desk, and asked the young woman there to call Mr. Grant's room for me to notify him I had arrived; due to security reasons, they would not give me the actual room number until they had spoken to him.

"He said you can go on up, Mr. Kinney," the red-headed girl advised me a few minutes later, giving me a cursory, admiring glance that was, of course, totally wasted on me unbeknownst to her. It didn't hurt to work the old charm, though, in any case; I found it normally worked well, and always to my advantage. "He's in Room #801 – top floor."

Thanking the girl with one of my sexy smiles, I took the elevator up to the eighth floor. As I disembarked and got my bearings, I noticed the rooms were located farther apart from each other, indicating these were actually suites. _Well, at least this Grant nerd apparently has good taste,_ I thought.

I finally located #801 at the far end of the hallway; I walked confidently up to the door and knocked a few times. After there was no response, I got a little irritated – after all, I had an _extremely_ important reunion that I needed to partake of in less than two hours. This time I knocked louder in hopes of getting the man's attention. _Come on, Pal, I don't have all fucking day here._

Finally, I heard a somewhat muffled voice respond. I barely could make out an instruction to "come on in – the door's unlocked," before I opened it and walked in. I had never been in this newer Marriott before, and I had to admit I was impressed. As I had suspected, it was indeed a suite, and a luxury suite at that. There were two large areas – an expansive sitting room and an open, fully-equipped kitchen, along with two other doors that I assumed belonged to a bedroom and a bathroom. I also noticed two all glass, French double doors leading out to a spacious, private balcony. Seeing no one in the immediate area, I placed my briefcase down on a nearby table and walked over to peer out at the balcony. I noticed to my surprise that the outdoor area contained several patio plants that, combined with the privacy panels on either side, provided a great deal of seclusion; it was definitely not your typical, cookie cutter hotel balcony.

Turning around back to the actual suite, I tried to figure out where the source of the previous voice had come from. "Hello?" I called out. This was getting ridiculous; why in the fuck did this always seem to happen whenever you were in a hurry? Walking toward the two closed doors, I was determined to get this show on the road; as I approached one of them, I finally heard what sounded like a shower running. Why in the hell did this Grant person decide to take a shower now of all time?

"Shit!" I muttered in exasperation. I could care less if this fucker was well-groomed; I had to get the hell out of here. "Mr. Grant?" I called out. "It's Brian Kinney. We had a 4:00 appointment. Should I come back? _Hopefully_ _next week, pal – I've got more important things on my agenda at the moment_.

Instead, I heard the same muffled voice saying, "No, no, I'll be right out. Make yourself comfortable. Have a drink from the bar."

Sighing, I decided maybe a little Jim Beam would help make my interminable wait a little more palatable. But I swore that, possible lucrative account or not, after a week of frustration and perpetual horniness, if that man wasn't out in the next five minutes, I was out of here. Fortunately, about 30 seconds later, I could hear the shower being turned off and what sounded like a glass door being slid back as the man apparently exited the stall. _Finally._ I took my glass of scotch over to one of the overstuffed leather recliners and sat fidgeting, as I nursed my drink in barely-controlled impatience. As the door to the bathroom opened, however, my annoyance quickly dissipated as I got a good look at the owner of _Grant Hardwoods _and my mouth fell open_. _The man's entire body was still encased in a light sheen of water from the shower and positively shone in the nearby lamp. _Oh, my God…..hard wood indeed_, I thought, as I ogled the glorious human specimen in front of me and my eyes roamed downward.

The owner wasn't a nerd at all; in fact, he was a slender, blond vision with the bluest eyes I had ever seen and he was wearing nothing but a big smile, a yellow hardhat, and a calfskin leather, double-pouched tool belt slung jauntily over his hips. Oh, and did I mention he also was displaying an impressive piece of his _hard_ _wood_? Funny, too, how it seemed to match the same exact one _I_ had at the moment.

He looped his thumbs in his belt and slowly swaggered toward me, looking like an extremely sexy version of John Wayne, a large silver ring full of keys jingling as he strode closer and stopped about five feet away; at this point not only was my mouth hanging open, now it was downright _salivating_.

"Mr. Kinney, I presume?" he purred softly at me, eyes twinkling. _Fuck, he was HOT._

_Get a grip, Kinney. _Right. Too late – I was stammering like a virgin fag getting ready for my first lay. "Uh, um, yeah, that would be me," I finally managed to utter, as I noticed Justin's eyebrows rising and his lips curling under in an attempt to keep from laughing out loud at me. He brought one of his hands up to cover his mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to disguise his glee. _I am SO fucked._

"I understand from a couple of your employees that you've been having problems with sawing wood this week," he teased as I continued to gaze up at him, transfixed, a small smile now appearing on my face. He pulled out a small handsaw from one of his pouches and added, "I think I'm just the tool man to fix your problem." He took the saw and flexed it between his two hands for emphasis. "You got any wood that needs _special_ _attention_?" he cooed, holding the saw out in front of him.

I outright grinned now. "Definitely," I drawled, as I shakily placed the drink down on the nearby end table and rose to familiarize myself with this sexy handyman. "But I must say, I'm impressed with your sample so far_._ It's definitely the _hardest_ wood I've ever seen, but I'll have to test it personally to make sure it will last. By the way, remind me to _kill_ a couple of my employees on Monday when I get back into the office."

Ignoring that statement, Justin smiled wickedly as he asked me in a professional voice, "Would you care to pick out one of my _tools_ for your test, Mr. Kinney? I have several here that might get the job done."

"Hmmm," I replied thoughtfully, as I moved closer to my target and took a glance at the various _tools_ Justin had stuffed into his pouches. I noticed he had two or three dildos in various sizes, a large tube of heat warming lube, a pair of leather handcuffs, a couple of large black and white feathers ("authentic turkey," Justin informatively pointed out – the best for tickling, he was assured at the toy store), and a dark blue, soft cloth blindfold, which he courteously pointed out he had made from one of our bamboo washcloths I had previously gifted him with. "I noticed you brought several sizes of _screwdrivers_," I smirked. "No _Taste of Sunshine_?" I asked him.

Justin smiled smugly. "Of course – only you get the _freshly-squeezed_ kind tonight." And with that statement, he took my hand and, tugging me closer, suddenly took hold of something _else_ and firmly squeezed.

"Fuck, Justin!" I immediately moaned as our week of no-contact quickly caught up with me.

"I was just testing the _quality_ of YOUR wood," he protested innocently, as he leaned in and blew a hot breath into my ear before he gave my cock a harder squeeze through my expensive Prada pants.

That was it – I couldn't stand it any longer. I mean, I was normally a man of great control, but even Brian Kinney has his limits. Roughly slamming the slender body to me, I clamped a hand around his neck and crushed his lips to mine, my other hand wrapping around the slim, silky waist and coming to rest just above the crease in his delicious bubble butt. My sexy belt boy immediately opened his lips as my tongue demanded entrance, a soft moan escaping _his_ lips this time. I knew I was undoubtedly bruising his pink, lush lips with my urgent kisses as I angled his head for an even more in-depth exploration, but I was so turned on by now I couldn't help it. Besides, from the breathy murmuring I heard and rapid heartbeat I felt coming from Justin now, I don't think he really minded.

My right hand continued to grasp the pale neck possessively, as my other hand rose lower to caress circles on the two luscious globes. _So soft and round, _I marveled, as I cupped one of his buttocks and slowly crept toward the crease in between. I tentatively poked one finger in the hole; this time Justin was the one who reacted.

"God, Brian!" he cried, as he jerked back from our kiss just enough to look me in the eyes – his entire face was flushed, his eyes were sparkling with the dark blue hue of obvious lust, and his lips were battered and covered with my saliva. I thought it was the most exciting thing I had ever seen, and I was horny as hell. "I was just trying to make sure I remembered where to put my post hole digger," I informed him, as now both my hands continued to caress Justin's lower back and ass.

"I'm sure your _post hole digger_ is working just fine," he stated breathlessly as I chuckled. "But you're wearing WAY too many workclothes," he scolded me. "Time to take the jackhammer out, Big Boy," he teased as he wantonly rubbed against me and my cock hardened impossibly more.

Groaning, I couldn't resist swooping in for another deep kiss as his hands busily got to work pulling my tie open; I briefly pulled away from our kiss just long enough for him to whip the tie over my head before possessively clamping my lips back onto his. I hurriedly shrugged my jacket off my shoulders, and felt his slender fingers quickly rushing to unbutton my shirt. As soon as my shirt was finally open and my cuffs unbuttoned, I roughly wadded the shirt up and threw it on the floor; the damn thing was the LAST thing on my mind after 38 hours, 23 minutes, and 14 seconds of _Justin withdrawal_.

Our lips finally broke apart, both of us breathing rapidly, as my mouth trailed a wet, hot path down the side of his face to his neck, where I suckled and nuzzled him until I couldn't resist planting a couple of bites to mark my territory. I could hear Justin's sharp instant intake of breath and feel his increasing desire for me as both our hands worked furiously at removing the final obstacle to our goal.

"Let me," Justin panted, voice heavy with need. I acceded to his wishes as my hands roamed up his chest to tweak both nipples before I playfully gave the right pink peak a lick. I grinned as I heard Justin groan my name in frustration as he continued to try and unbutton my pants. Finally, I felt my cock spring unfettered from its confinement as Justin pushed both the dress pants and my briefs down my legs; I keenly felt our brief separation as he knelt down and deftly removed both of my shoes so I could step out of the rest of my clothes.

He stood up as, at last, we were clothed in minimal attire; I in only my socks, and my little sexy handyman in his hard hat and tool belt. As I hungrily drunk in the sight of him, I reached to crook my right fingers into the leather strap. As I walked backwards, pulling him slowly toward what had to be the bedroom, I asked him, "Is your wood _pressure treated_? Because it's going to have to stand up to a LOT of HARD testing tonight."

Justin giggled. "I think it can handle it, old man. Bring it on," he challenged me, a definite glean in his eyes.

"Okay," I agreed, as I suddenly let go of him and pulled him to me to pick him up by his hips. Justin squealed as he wrapped his legs around my waist and I quickly walked us toward the bedroom door. Opening it up with one hand as I continued to hold onto him with the other, I noticed with satisfaction that the large, king-sized bed already had the luxurious sheets conveniently turned down for some serious fucking.

"Timber!" I shouted, as I dropped my prized piece of giggling lumber onto the bed and promptly pounced on it. "Time to take that wood down!"

"I think we'll need the BIG screwdriver for that job, don't you think so, Mr. Kinney?"

"Very astute observation, Sunshine." I saw Justin roll his eyes as I told him, "And then after I'm done fucking you senseless, we'll get the large dildo out."

"Ouch!" I unexpectedly heard him yell.

"What is it?" I asked, concerned.

"This fucking belt is stabbing me. Unbuckle it, will you?"

"Will pleasure, Sunshine. Uh…..That's not actually a chastity belt, is it?

"Ha, ha….come here and I'll show you _chastity_." I busily undid his belt and dropped it on the floor after pulling out the large tube of lube; before silencing my little handyman with a bruising kiss and preparing my prized piece of hard wood for ramming into his tight little post hole, though, he breathlessly asked me one last question.

"Brian?"

"Yes, Sunshine?" I asked somewhat wearily. "Less talking now, more action." Justin was not to be deterred, however, at least temporarily.

"Tomorrow night, can I put on my chef's outfit? I think I'll have some buns that need sampling."

"No problem........as long as I get to lick the bowl."


	7. Chapter 7: Conclusion

_The next morning – Marriott Hotel downtown_

Justin's button nose crinkled and he wiggled it as he felt something tickling it; he let out a sneeze before slowly opening his eyes to see what had been causing it. I had decided to make good use of one of his "authentic turkey feathers" from last night, using it as I slowly dragged it lightly down his neck and then his bare chest, before my tongue followed the same path downward and finally stopped to swirl a wet circle around his belly button. He shivered before I greeted him in a raspy voice, "Howdy, Pardner," and I peered up at him from below. "About time my sexy little cowpoke woke up," I growled. "I've been ready for some good old-fashioned _barebacking_ for a fucking hour now," I informed him huskily as I slunk lower down his body toward a target that was rapidly beginning to stand at attention. "Time to mount up, Sunshine," I instructed him, throwing the feather down on the floor and firmly squeezing his cock.

That was finally enough to wake the blond up as his body arched off the bed just like a bucking bronco at my touch; normally about this time Justin would have also buried his hands in my hair as encouragement for me to continue; however, before he could do that, he had to reach down and remove his yellow hard hat that I had procured during the night. "I don't think you'll need that," Justin murmured to me in a breathless voice as the hat joined his turkey feather on the floor; I felt his heart beating rapidly and his body going into overdrive. "I'm sure you're quite _hard enough _already," he assured me, as I chuckled in agreement before deciding to replace my hand with a hot, wet mouth.

"Shit, Brian!" Justin cried out as my pace sped up and I bobbed my head up and down right on target. I had decided after last night I was going to give as good as I got – and trust me, last night, I definitely _got_ it from a certain spitfire – over and over and over again, to the point where the twat _almost_ wore me out. I wasn't surprised, then, that after all that _handyman activity_ last night, it only took Justin several seconds before he came into my mouth and I greedily slurped every drop up before licking my lips and s-l-o-w-l-y inching my way up the slender body, my hands on either side of him like the rungs on a warm, undulating ladder. I heard my little toolboy sigh in pleasure as I finally pushed myself up on top of him to peer at the crystal blue eyes face to face. He rubbed his nose a little back and forth across mine like a little western Eskimo before smiling at me tenderly.

"Mmmm," I murmured, licking my lips again. "You're right – your cream sauce is _absolutely_ the best, especially when it's fresh."

Justin chuckled. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, _Sylvester_. If you're a good little cat later, maybe I'll let you milk some more out of me."

"Udderly delicious," I couldn't help joking, receiving a snort and a smack on the chest from the _little heifer_ himself. Suddenly, I found myself flipped over on my back with a warm, squirming body now lying on top of me. "I believe I recall someone mentioning it was time to _mount up_," he huskily said, as my cock hardened even more at the thought. "Well, I'm ready for my _ride_," my little buckaroo declared, actually winking at me as he reached over to the nightstand and opened the drawer, taking out a small tube of lube and a cowboy hat with a little adjustable cord attached. I laughed as he placed it on his head at an angle and sat on top of my thighs. "Better hold on, stallion, we're going for a _wild ride_," he advised, before placing a generous amount of lube on my cock and promptly impaling himself on it as I groaned in ecstasy. "Fuck!" I cried out. Without a condom, the feeling was so unbelievable. I would never get used to this euphoric feeling for as long as I lived, and I never wanted to get enough, I could _NEVER_ get enough from this man.

"I fully intend to," Justin replied, before he pushed himself up on his legs enough to pull halfway out before pushing himself back down, over and over and over again, just like last night. I decided Justin must have either been a fucking rodeo champion or a mechanical bull rider in a previous life by the aggressive way he rode me, and I found out my endurance didn't last any longer than Justin's as I came violently after the third or fourth push. He collapsed on top of me in his favorite position with me still inside him for several seconds, his slender hands wrapped around my waist and panting with rapid breaths, until eventually I turned us on our sides and mirrored his actions by encircling his waist protectively. As I rubbed circles on his back, I felt his breathing gradually slow down into an easier, rhythmic pace, so much so that I assumed he had fallen asleep on me again. I was a little startled, then, when I heard his voice saying softly to me, "Brian?"

I smiled. "Yes, Sunshine? You're not going to take out any more of your _handyman tools_ right now, are you?"

I heard his gentle laugh. "If it's all the same to you, big guy, I think I'll wait a while until my heart restores itself to a more _normal_ rhythm before I bring out any more _screwdrivers._"

I silently sighed in relief, because my little gay version of Ty Pennington was about to exhaust me; of course, I would _never, ever_ admit that to him. Fuck, no. He was no doubt feeling smug enough right now as it is. "Then what is it, Justin?" I asked, curious.

My fiancé pulled his hands from around my back now and placed both of them against my sweaty chest before speaking. "You think we can call our little game a draw now?" I chuckled as he explained, "I don't think my heart – or my libido – can stand any more periods of withdrawal; my body has become too accustomed to regular Kinney-style fucking. There's no telling what would happen if I had to go through again what I had to endure when you went to Japan and started that tortuous _HEAD_ game – especially now that we've done it raw. You've spoiled it for everyone else now, you know," he helpfully pointed out.

"I see," I answered solemnly. "But I don't know, Sunshine. I was rather enjoying playing with your _head_." I reached down to once again grasp his cock, marveling at how quickly it was becoming hard again. _Ah, the power of youth_. "Well, if you think I might jeopardize your mental as well as physical health, I suppose it's the only responsible thing to do."

Justin smiled, looking relieved as well. "Good," before he snuggled up against me and my arms tightened more firmly around his back.

"I suppose that means you're not interested in saving yourself until we get married, then?" I asked facetiously.

I heard a loud snort as he lifted his blond head to look at me with his eyes sparkling. "_HARD-LY_," he answered firmly. "Somehow I think we can come up with some other way to spice things up."

"As long as the recipe involves your special cream sauce, I think I can go along with that."

"I think that can be arranged," he replied, as his lips began to kiss my chest and the game began anew; this time, though, we were going to be _mutual_ players.


End file.
